


Missing

by Miles_2_Go



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Like real slow, M/M, Nemeton, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 06, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Supportive Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Vomiting, Whump, except for the camaro, sciles friendship, wood nymphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-02 06:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miles_2_Go/pseuds/Miles_2_Go
Summary: “I’m getting seriously worried here, Scott, okay? Iknowit’s Derek. I know he’s all mysterious and aloof, but something doesn’t feel right. Everything was totally normal the last time we talked. He didn’t seem like he was in a disappearing-for-three-days-without-telling-anyone kind of mood to me.”===Derek goes missing and only Stiles notices.





	1. Ankle Biter

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any weird formatting. I'm not new to AO3, but I'm new to _posting_ to AO3, and I'm still getting used to the weird bugs you get from importing from Google Docs.
> 
> Also, before I hear any complaints about it, there are two types of people: those who use an apostrophe and an s at the end of words that already end in s, but are not plural (ex. Stiles's), and heathens who just tack an apostrophe at the end of any ol' word that ends in s. I'm the former, obviously. One day I'll write a fic where Stiles has been cloned and _then_ and _only_ then will you see me use Stiles'.
> 
> ===
> 
> Edit:  
Now that this story is <s>almost</s> complete, I’d like to formally apologize for the mild rollercoaster of writing quality, here. This was the first real story I’ve written in probably at least 5 years. Posting it chapter by chapter as I wrote was my way of motivating myself to make it all the way through to the end and, as a result, you kind of get to see me go from starting off a little wobbly to getting back into the groove of writing. So you’ll notice that the first few chapters are a little simpler and a little more poorly-written than (I hope) the proceeding chapters. I really got more comfortable as the story progressed, and I hope it shows. Thanks to those of you who stuck with me.

Stiles sat on the forest floor, leaning back against one of the Jeep’s tires. He flipped his phone up into the air and caught it. Over and over. Toss...catch. Toss...catch. He wasn’t worried about dropping it; the screen was already cracked, anyway.

He stopped tossing the phone and thumbed the screen on, checking his notifications. Again. Nothing.

Toss...catch. Toss...catch.

He tapped the tips of his sneakers together. Taptap. Taptap.

Checked his notifications again. Nothing.

Toss...catch. Taptap. Toss...catch. Taptap.

He checked the time. Again. Derek was 94 minutes late.

Toss...catch. Taptap. Toss...catch. Taptap.

Thumbed the screen on again. Unlocked it. Tapped the phone icon. Scrolled to Derek’s name. Tap.

Rang through to voicemail. Again.

He tried Scott.

_ “Hey, Stiles.” _

“Scotty boy. Heard from Derek lately?”

_ “Derek? Why are you looking for Derek?” _

“Deaton sent me on a magic plant hunt in the Preserve. Derek was supposed to help me with his wolfy nose.”

_ “You asked  _ Derek  _ for help with that? What’s wrong with  _ my  _ wolfy nose?” _ Scott whined.

“Oh, Scotty boy, your wolfy nose is just fine.  _ Who’s a good boy? _ You’re a good boy! You’ve just been...busy, with Kira back in town. I didn’t want to interrupt your... _ busy-ness. _ You know, ‘cause you two have been  _ getting down to busine—” _

_ “Okay, okay, I get it! Geeze, Stiles. I haven’t heard from Derek. When was he supposed to meet you?” _

Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the screen.   
“Almost two hours ago.”

_ “I wouldn’t worry too much. I mean, it’s Derek. He probably just decided to go brood somewhere instead.” _

“I don’t know, Scott. I mean, he’s been less broody lately. Since the whole Mexico thing. He’s all...healed and crap. He’s less growly.  _ Friendlier, _ I dare say. I don’t think he’d just flake on me without even texting.”

_ “I don’t know, dude. It’s still Derek. I wouldn’t be too worried.” _

“Yeah, yeah. I guess. Just...let me know if you hear from him?”

_ “Will do, buddy. _ ”

“So, um...it looks like I’m down a wolfy nose for my magic plant hunt. Wanna…?”

_ “Oh. Well...actually, Kira and I…” _

_ “Ugh, _ okay, okay, sorry I asked.”

_ “Sorry, Stiles.” _

“Yeah yeah. Tell Kira I said hi.”

Stiles made a few more calls and sent a couple more texts, but all the other wolves and supernaturally-gifted noses were too busy to help him traipse around the woods looking for flowers, so he shoved his phone into his pocket, hefted his backpack, and took off into the Preserve on his own.

Which was admittedly not one of Stiles’s best ideas. But he was a big boy now. And it was the middle of the day. There was only like a 28% chance he would get eaten.

===

So he didn’t technically get  _ eaten, _ but 28% had been a bit of an underestimate. Stiles sat on Deaton’s exam table, the bottom of his left pant leg carefully cut off, blood oozing down into his sock and sneaker. Deaton prodded gently at the gaping wound on Stiles’s ankle.

“Well,” Deaton mused. “It doesn’t look like it envenomated you. Going by your description, I’m guessing the creature was a wood nymph. They have two forms. One is the form I am assuming you encountered. Small, brown, and...toothy. The other is a voluptuous maiden. Usually naked. Be glad that you encountered the form that you did.”

“Um, I don’t think you understand my priorities very well, there, doc.”

“The maiden would have killed you and fed you to her tree.”

Stiles gulped. “Oh. Still. Would have been more action than I’ve had in a while,” he sighed.

Deaton rolled his eyes. “I’ll clean and dress this. I’m giving you an antibiotic. Take it twice a day for a week and keep the wound clean and you should be fine. If any part of you starts to glow or ooze, give me a call.”

_ “Glow or ooze?” _

“Yes. Now, did you find the plants I sent you for?” Deaton cleaned Stiles’s wound while he talked.

“Um,  _ no. _ I was kind of busy running away from killer tree-hippy  _ things.” _ Stiles flailed his arms. “I didn’t have any backup!” 

“Why didn’t you take one of the wolves with you? Despite what you would have everyone believe, you  _ are _ usually smarter than that, Stiles.” Deaton raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles sputtered in indignation. “I _ —ow that stings— _ I  _ tried. _ Derek was supposed to help me but he flaked and he won’t answer my calls. I’m kinda worried, actually.”

“Derek can take care of himself,” Deaton said calmly. He finished wrapping the wound and taped it off. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

===

Three days later, Stiles still hadn’t heard from Derek.

“I’m getting seriously worried here, Scott, okay? I  _ know _ it’s Derek. I know he’s all mysterious and aloof, but something doesn’t feel right. Everything was totally normal the last time we talked. He didn’t seem like he was in a disappearing-for-three-days-without-telling-anyone kind of mood to me.”

“Just how frequently  _ have _ you and Derek been talking, Stiles?” Scott squinted at him suspiciously. They sat in Stiles’s bedroom. He hadn’t really officially unpacked when he came home from school for the summer and they were sitting on piles of laundry. He wasn’t even sure what was clean and what wasn’t. Judging by the way Scott tried to hide the crinkling of his nose, most of it was dirty.

“Scott, that is  _ so _ not the point, here, man! Derek is  _ missing!” _ Stiles grabbed a handful of hair in frustration.

“Okay, okay. I get it, man.” Scott held up his hands. “What do you need me to do? Have you checked the loft? Did he take the Camaro? Have you talked to Cora?”

Stiles dropped his hands from his hair to scratch at his healing ankle and raised his eyebrows. “Wow, Detective McCall, on the job?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dude. I’ve watched you and Lydia do this stuff practically weekly for years. I can form basic plans, too. I’m hurt by your lack of faith.”

Stiles winced. “You’re right, Scotty, I’m sorry. You know I get cranky when I’m worried. I checked the loft and no one was home. The Camaro wasn’t there. Which I know doesn’t really support my ‘he didn’t just up and leave’ theory, but that still doesn’t mean he isn’t missing. And the number I have for Cora isn’t in service anymore.”

Scott made a face. “You know that only leaves one option, right?”

Stiles groaned and flopped onto his back into another pile of clothes. “I know. Peter.”


	2. Momma Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles start their search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapters. I've been a little strapped for time, but I want to make sure you guys get steady updates.

Peter answered on the second ring.

_ “Stiles? The Apocalypse _ must _ be nigh.” _

Stiles started to ask about Derek, but stopped. If Peter knew it was him before he’d even spoken, that meant...

“Wait, you have my number saved in your phone?” he asked, incredulously.

There was a disgruntled pause.

_ “What do you _ want_, Stiles?” _

Stiles tried to shake off the heebie-jeebies he always got at the sound of Peter’s voice.

“I’m looking for Derek.”

_ “And you’re calling me for that, because…?” _

“He’s your nephew, duh. Have you heard from him?”

_ “My dear_ nephew _only deigns to speak to me when he needs something. I can’t say I’ve recently had the pleasure of serving him. In fact, I have no intention of being _anyone’s _servant any longer, Mr. Stilinski. Not a single one of your little pack has ever so much as spat a single ‘please and thank you’ in my direction and, frankly, I’m sick of it.” _

Stiles really didn’t have time for this. “Peter, I really don’t have time for this. When was the last time you talked to him?”

_ “You know, I can’t say that I recall, my dear boy. Bye, now.” _

“Peter, wait!” Stiles bit down on his tongue. He could barely get the word out. “Please.”

He could practically hear Peter’s smug smile over the phone.

_ “He does have manners,” _ Peter crooned. _ “What is it that you need Derek for?” _

“I don’t _ need _ him for anything. I can’t _ find _ him.”

Another pause.

Peter’s tone changed. Surprisingly, he dropped the playfulness. _ “He’s missing?” _His tone was one of careful interest, betraying no hint of concern. Stiles didn’t buy that for a second.

“When’s the last time you talked to him, Peter?”

_ “A few days ago. He took the Camaro to a mechanic. I gave him a ride home. Didn’t get a thank you for that, either.” _

Stiles balked at that. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of Derek and Peter doing boring, every-day family things. Perfectly normal things like driving each other around. It kind of made his skin crawl. Then his brain caught up with him. The Camaro. Despite what he’d said to Scott, when the car wasn’t outside of Derek’s loft, Stiles had _ hoped _ that that meant he was wrong about Derek being missing. That it meant maybe Derek _ did _ just leave without telling anyone. They needed to find the Camaro. If it was still at the mechanic, that meant he was right and something had happened to Derek.

“Which mechanic?”

===

The Camaro was still there. The mechanic told Scott and Stiles that he had called Derek the day before to let him know the car was ready to be picked up, but hadn’t heard anything back yet.

“Okay, I think it’s time for full panic mode now,” Stiles said as they drove back from the mechanic’s shop.

“You mean you haven’t already _ been _ in full panic mode?” Scott snorted.

“Dude, how are you not more worried?” Stiles looked over at Scott and flailed a hand at him.

Scott jerked over and steadied the wheel as the Jeep swerved a little.

“Eyes on the _ road_, Stiles, Jesus.”

Stiles smacked Scott’s hand away from the wheel. “Look, Scott, I know you and Derek aren’t exactly _ friends_, but—”

“Whoa, man, no way. Derek’s cool. He’s pack. It’s not like that anymore. I know we didn’t always get along, but...no, man. He’s definitely pack. I’m just saying, this isn’t anything new. Derek disappears all the time, it’s kind of his thing.”

_“Yeah,” _ Stiles rolled his eyes, “but how many times has he disappeared and _ actually been in trouble_? Let me answer that for you: _ a bunch of times_. Do you not remember the whole kidnapped-by-his-crazy-undead-ex debacle in Mexico? I’m pretty sure Derek has been kidnapped and chained up somewhere by the baddy-of-the-week, like, _ multiple times _ by now.”

“He’s disappeared plenty of times and _ not _ been in trouble, too, is all I’m saying, Stiles. I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying...calm down a little. You’re getting yourself all worked up.”

_“Someone has to be! _ Man, if _ we _ don’t worry about Derek when he doesn’t come home for dinner, who will? We’re kind of all he’s got.”

Scott got quiet at that. The corners of his mouth turned down. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Then, “I guess you’re right. Derek deserves an overreactive mom. It’s probably been a while since he’s had anything like that.”

“Damn right, he does. And I’m gonna mom the shit out of him.”

Scott rolled his eyes with another snort, then sighed. “So what do we do now?”

Stiles thought for a minute. “I’m guessing I was probably the last person to talk to him, but we need to find out for sure.”

“We thinking pack meeting?”

Stiles nodded. “Pack meeting.”


	3. Found Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the rest of the pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise new chapter! This one's longer than the others. Hopefully the chapters will get longer as I go. I'm just impatient to post, tbh.
> 
> I haven't watched seasons 5 and 6 since they aired, so please let me know if you notice any inconsistencies. I'm trying to stay canon-compliant, but I'm relying on the wiki and recaps pretty heavily.

Stiles wasn’t sure when his house had become the new pack meeting-place. Maybe when their pack had grown. When they had started to become an  _ actual _ pack, a real family, not just a bunch of people thrown together by supernatural circumstance. Which, yeah, they still were that, but it was more now. Things were more organized, more stable; not like it had been before. The pack had morphed and changed so many times over the years, it was hard to keep track.

In the beginning, it had just been Stiles and Scott. Then Derek, for a short while. Then Allison. Lydia. Even Jackson, maybe. Reluctantly. Then Derek had broken off and formed his own pack with Isaac, Erica, Boyd. Then they lost Erica. Then Boyd. Then Ethan and Aiden somehow weaseled their way in, Stiles still didn’t know how the  _ hell _ that had happened. Derek left. Kira and Malia came into the picture. Then they lost Aiden. Lost Allison. Jackson and Ethan left. Isaac left. The kids showed up...Liam, Mason, Corey, Hayden. Then Hayden left. And Derek. Again.

And Stiles knew that the way things were now probably wasn’t permanent. Not with their track record. But it still felt like maybe things had finally settled. Or...were settling. Everyone had finally found their groove, fallen into rank. Their current configuration had been consistent for more than two years, now—longer than any other before.

Stiles sat perched on the back of his couch and looked around at the room. Scott stood in place at the head of the coffee table, arms crossed, back straight. Alphas weren’t allowed to look comfortable, apparently.

Lydia lounged on the crowded couch, her feet tucked under her, leaning back against Stiles’s knees. She had stayed in Cambridge last summer. She had never really been clear on why she hadn’t come home that year. Too busy with some vague “special summer projects,” she’d said. She would deny it, but Stiles had a feeling it was because they had broken up. The long distance thing hadn’t worked, and they’d decided, mutually, that they were better as friends. Still, the break-up had stung, and Stiles didn’t blame Lydia for avoiding him.  _ Such pettiness is beneath me, Stiles, don’t delude yourself,  _ he could imagine her saying in response to that idea. Though they’d never even had that talk. Probably never would. Bygones.

But she’d come back this year. The pull of pack was too strong to be away for so long, even for someone who wasn’t really a wolf.

Malia was sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch. She hadn’t gone off to college like most of the pack. She’d had a few setbacks integrating back into human life and she hadn’t yet felt like she was ready to take that next step. She’d sworn off relationships and all major life stuff while she figured herself out. Stiles had talked her into at least taking a few online general studies classes from a nearby community college, and she was doing really well. He was working on convincing her to come out to stay with him when he went back to school, just to get a feel for things. He was pretty sure he almost had her convinced, the new coyote-claw marks in his favorite shirt and her persistent  _ “No, Stiles, I am not hanging out in some smelly boys’ dorm room with you”  _ argument totally notwithstanding.

Kira sat on the floor against the coffee table, an arm casually linked around Scott’s calf. The two of them had been inseparable since Kira had moved back into town at the beginning of the summer. She had started on her college classes early in her senior year of high school and fast-tracked her teaching degree in the two years since she’d graduated and was already looking for a job as an elementary school teacher. She had her eye on a school near UC Davis.

Mason sat next to Lydia on the couch, Corey in his lap. Along with Liam, they’d both graduated from Beacon Hills High the year before. Neither had the means nor the funds to go to college, but Stiles was confident that, whatever happened, they’d figure it out together.

Isaac was sandwiched between the Corey/Mason pile and the arm of the couch. He had come back shortly after the Anuk-Ite incident to help the pack finish off the dregs of Monroe’s hunters. He and Chris had moved in with Melissa. For so long it had just been Scott and his mom. Now they had a new family.

Liam was awkwardly perched on the arm of the couch, near Isaac. He’d been bulking up the last year, focusing more on sports than his actual education while at school—he hadn’t even declared a major yet, for pete’s sake—and he definitely wasn’t used to his new muscles yet. His balance was shot and Stiles was pretty sure he was going to fall off the arm of the couch. He made a mental note to move his babcia’s antique vase somewhere safer than that end table before the next pack meeting.

So, yeah. Their little pack wasn’t perfect. Their lives were in flux, they were working it out, but...it felt good. Like they were on the right track. Finally.

Except…except for that empty spot at the opposite end of the coffee table. Where Derek normally stood, as equally uncomfortable-looking as Scott.

Everyone was up to speed on what was going on. Scott had sent out a group text.

**Scott: Anyone heard from Derek in the last three days?**

**Liam: nope**

**Kira: no? Is everything okay?**

**Malia: we went for a run last week but haven’t heard from him since then**

**Corey: That’s a no from me and Mason, too.**

**Isaac: Havent talked to him. Whats going on?**

**Lydia: Is something wrong?**

He’d had similar responses from Deaton and Chris. No one but Stiles had talked to him.

**Scott: Hes missing. Meeting at Stiles house asap.**

The room was quiet, everyone looking to Scott, waiting for him to start the meeting. Scott cleared his throat.

“Derek was supposed to meet Stiles in the Preserve to help him find some plants for Deaton. He never showed up. That was three days ago. No one has heard from him. Not even Peter. His Camaro is in the shop, so he didn’t drive away. We need to find him.”

The room was quiet.

“I know I’m not the only one thinking it, so I’ll say it,” Malia chimed in when it was obvious Scott’s speech was finished. “How do we know he’s really missing and not just pulling a Derek?”

Scott shrugged. “I thought the same thing, at first. But Stiles has a...feeling.”

“A feeling?” Isaac looked at Stiles, an eyebrow raised. “Are you a banshee now or something?”

“It’s not like a  _ feeling _ feeling,” Stiles rolled his eyes and waved his hands around. “But, come on, we all know I’d be dead by now if I didn’t learn to trust my instincts. Something’s wrong.”

“Speaking of feelings,” Scott turned to Lydia. “Lydia, you haven’t…?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. I don’t think he’s dead. Not that I can feel, anyway.”

Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Scott nodded. “Okay, then. Split up into groups. I want someone with a good nose in each group. One group check the old train depot. Someone else check the Hale house. Sniff around. Let me know immediately if you catch any fresh scents anywhere.” He grimaced at the next order. “Malia...I hate to ask, but I want you to go to Peter’s.” He held up a hand at her protest. “We need to make sure he isn’t lying about not seeing Derek. You’re the least likely to get murdered for showing up at his apartment. Take Isaac with you for backup. See if you can get Peter to give you Cora’s number, no one else seems to have it.”

Malia crossed her arms and flashed her eyes with a quiet growl, but didn’t disagree. Isaac huffed, but nodded.

“Stiles, Lydia, and I will go to the loft. Anyone else have any ideas or suggestions?”

Kira looked up at Scott from her spot on the floor. “I can check with my mom and make sure she hasn’t sensed any weird stuff going on in town.”

Scott smiled and Stiles didn’t need supernatural hearing to know that Scott’s heart had jumped. “Good idea, babe.” Good god, they were making doe eyes at each other. It was disgustingly cute.

“I’ll check in with Parrish,” Lydia said. “See if he’s had any Hellhound feelings.”

“What about the Preserve?” Mason asked. “Maybe he went for a run and something happened. We should look there.”

“That’s the plan,” Scott confirmed. “After we’re finished checking the obvious places, I want everyone to meet up at the Preserve. Stiles, do you wanna talk to your dad? He can help us figure out how to set up a search pattern.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I’ll call him on the way to the loft. While we’re at it, you should ask your mom to keep an eye out at the hospital.”

“Already texted her. Chris is getting in touch with some of his contacts, too. The ones that will still talk to him, anyway.” He cringed. “Making sure no one has heard anyone bragging about taking out the last of the Hale pack.”

“All right,” he said to the room. “Let’s get started.”


	4. Tip Me Over and Pour Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The OG trio checks out the loft. Lydia knows Stiles better than Stiles knows himself.

Stiles, Lydia, and Scott went to Derek’s loft. Scott sniffed around while Lydia poked at and listened to things.

“Derek’s still the best one for this kind of thing,” Scott said, frustrated. “He’s got the best nose in the pack. He  _ lives _ here, his scent is too strong to really tell how old it is, but it doesn’t smell like he’s been here very recently, from what I can tell. All the other smells are just pack.” He inhaled a few more times, then wrinkled his nose. “And Peter. Peter and Derek are the most recent ones, I think.”

“Peter did say he drove Derek home, so that helps corroborate his story,” Lydia said with a shrug.

“Yeah, it could also mean he was here  _ kidnapping Derek, _ ” Stiles said, pulling at his hair.

Lydia and Scott exchanged a look.

“I think it would look like there had been more of a struggle, if that were the case,” Lydia said patiently. She put a hand on Stiles’s arm. “Scott,” she said without turning to look at him. “Why don’t you go take another look around outside?” Scott spared Stiles a sympathetic glance and then ducked out the front door. To be honest, everyone in the pack knew that Scott was only the alpha because Lydia allowed it.

“Stiles, honey, let’s sit down for a minute, okay?” She steered Stiles to the couch.

Stiles plopped down and Lydia sat next to him, her hand still on his arm. “Lydia,” Stiles said carefully. “Why are you suddenly treating me like a dementia patient?”

She ignored the question. “Stiles, what’s going on with you?”

“What? What do you mean what’s going on with me?”

Lydia pursed her lips. “You’ve just been acting...a little worked up about this.”

“Why would I not be!” Stiles waved his hands in exasperation. “One of our pack members has disappeared and no one seems to care!”

“Stiles, of  _ course _ we care! We’re all worried, obviously. I just don’t remember  _ you _ ever caring quite so much about Derek.”

“What? I’ve always cared about Derek! We’ve been friends for 5 years and saved each other’s lives more times than I can count.”

“Stiles, you and Derek have  _ not _ been friends for 5 years. You tried to have him arrested. Multiple times.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe we haven’t been friends for  _ that _ long, but we  _ are _ friends. And…” he sighed. “I don’t know, Lydia, I just...if I hadn’t talked him into coming out to the Preserve with me the other day...would anyone have even noticed he was missing? He’s a member of our pack, and no one even noticed he was gone! What if he’s dead? What if someone or something  _ killed _ him and...what if he  _ died _ without even knowing that we all care about him? Because we’re obviously  _ shit _ at showing it.”

Lydia didn’t say anything. She just sat and looked at Stiles, her too-smart gaze studying him. Without a word, she stood up and wandered around the room until she came to a stop in front of a small end table. On it sat a small ornamental teapot next to a picture frame. Stiles had never noticed it before. The teapot was a shiny white ceramic adorned with a pale blue swirling floral pattern. It had obviously been broken into pieces, but someone had taken the time to carefully glue it back together. In the picture frame was a faded old picture of a woman. She had long, black hair, but the picture was too worn to make much else out about her features.

Lydia ran a finger over the top of the picture frame. “Talia,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. Then she picked up the teapot with two hands. She removed the lid and set it gently on the table. Then she closed her eyes, puckered her lips and blew into the top of the teapot, slow and long. Her breath in the pot made a deep, quiet moaning sound. Lydia stopped blowing, tilted her head, and listened. Then she did it again. And again. Each time, tilting her head and concentrating.

After the third time, she opened her eyes, set the teapot back down, and carefully replaced the lid. Then she turned to Stiles and blinked, coming back to herself.

“He’s alive,” she said, simply. “I can’t feel him, which means he isn’t dead or dying. So you can tell him all about how much you care about him when we find him.”

_ “We,” _ Stiles choked out. “How much  _ we _ care about him.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and smiled. “Mhm.” Her face fell a little. “You are right, however. I don’t think any of us ever properly express our...affection for Derek.” She nodded to herself. “That’s going to change.”

Lydia Martin with a project. Lord help Derek when they found him.


	5. Crazy Hippies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack heads out to the woods to look for Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a decently long chapter!  
Side note: I had more plans for the Hale house until I remembered that it was technically gone now. :(

**Scott: No wierd smells at the loft. we don’t think he packed any bags or took anything. Lydia says he’s not dead. Smells like Peter was here a few days ago. Malia Isaac update?**

**Malia: Peter says he promises he didn’t kidnap Derek. I think he’s actually worried about him. Peter having feelings is gross. Got Cora’s number tho. Peter asked me about school. Hes trying to pay for my college. Derek better be dead or he owes me.**

**Isaac: I texted Cora. Still waiting for a response. She didnt answer when I called.**

**Scott: heading to the Preserve now. Meet us at the Hale house. I think you might have to invite Peter. we kind of need his nose.**

**Malia: OWES ME**

Stiles pulled the Jeep into the driveway of the burned out shell of the Hale house and took the keys out of the ignition. Stiles had only been here once since the county had demolished the house. For some reason, the rubble had never been cleaned up, and the pile of bricks and ashes still remained.

Kira and Corey were already there, having split off from the pack to search around what was left of the house for clues. Stiles, Scott, and Lydia hopped out of the Jeep and walked over to meet them.

“Anything?” Scott asked.

Kira walked over and wrapped her arms around Scott. “Nothing,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “But I’d never been here before. It’s so sad. Poor Derek.”

They stood there like that for a while while Scott rubbed her back. Stiles had always liked Kira. He was glad she came back. She and Scott were good together.

“I’m sorry we broke up,” he blurted, looking over at Lydia. They were still standing over by the Jeep, away from the rest of the group. He cringed as soon as the words came out of his mouth. 

Lydia sighed. “Stiles…”

“I mean, I’m not sorry we’re broken up. I...I think it was the best decision. I think we’re better this way. I’m just...I’m sorry that it didn’t work.” He kicked a rock. “Sorry I suck.”

Lydia put her face in her hands. “Stiles Stilinski, you are an idiot sometimes,” she moaned. “We’re not having this talk here. Nope.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Not here.” She took a few steps away from him, then whirled back around to face him, her strawberry blond hair whipping around her face. She pointed an angry finger at him. “I love you, you stupid idiot.”

Stiles’s eyes watered. “I love you, too.”

“You don’t suck,” she sighed, dropping her finger. “We suck. We don’t need to have this talk.” She walked back over to Stiles and wrapped her small arms around him in a hug. “We’re family,” she said. “We always will be.” Stiles nodded into her neck and let himself relax a little.

They broke apart when Liam and Mason pulled up in Liam’s truck. They hadn’t had any luck at the train depot, either.

“My dad and Parrish should be here soon,” Stiles said, checking the time on his phone. “Is Chris coming?” he looked over to Scott.

“He’s on his way,” Scott said. “Mom just finished a double, so she’s going home to sleep, but she’s got some of her nurses keeping an eye out. They’re supposed to call me if Derek shows up at the hospital. And Deaton can’t make it, but he said to call if there’s an emergency.”

“This kind of _ is _ an emergency, Doc,” Stiles grumbled under his breath.

“I’ve been thinking,” Corey started. “If the Camaro’s out of commission, how was Derek getting here to meet you, Stiles?”

Stiles hadn’t even considered that. He frowned. “He didn’t ask me to pick him up.” He shrugged. “He’s been getting more in touch with the fully-shifted side of himself, so he was probably going to run, I guess.” He looked at Malia. “You two have been going on runs in full shift, right?”

Malia nodded. “Derek really loves running. That’s probably what he was planning to do.”

“So when _ exactly _ did you talk to him last, Stiles?” Mason asked. “Did he leave the loft to come here, or did something happen before that?”

“We talked a few hours before we were supposed to meet. I don’t know if he was on his way here already or not.” Stiles hated not knowing. Hated the idea of something happening to Derek while he was all alone.

“But if he was,” Scott said. “He would be fully shifted. So...how does that help us?”

Mason shrugged and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not like...he wouldn’t let himself get picked up by, like _ animal control _ or anything, right?”

Liam groaned. “Mason!”

Mason held his hands up. “I’m serious!” He looked around at the rest of the pack, desperate for some back-up. “Could that happen?”

“No,” Scott sighed. “Derek’s not stupid. He wouldn’t let himself get caught like that. They wouldn’t be able to catch him without wolfsbane, anyway.”

“Uh,” Kira said timidly, “I don’t really _ want _ to jump on Mason’s...kind of absurd bandwagon, but...this _ is _ Beacon Hills. Animal control wouldn’t...keep wolfsbane on hand, right?”

Everyone turned to look at Stiles. “What? Why are you looking at me? _ I _ don’t know!”

“Your dad’s the sheriff,” Isaac said. “And after Monroe, who knows how many people in this town know about werewolves. Would your dad know if any animal control officers are walking around with wolfsbane?”

“Jesus,” Stiles moaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this. Derek did _ not _ get picked up by animal control! And,” he pulled out his phone, “animal control doesn’t work for the sheriff’s department, anyway!” He pulled his dad’s name up on his contact list, “My dad probably wouldn’t even _ know,” _ he hit call.

Indeed, Sheriff Stilinski did _ not _ know anything about any animal control officers armed with wolfsbane, but he _ did _ think he would have heard about a huge black wolf with glowing eyes getting picked up, and did Stiles have a head injury? Did he need to call an ambulance?

“Great, now my dad thinks I’m an idiot,” he complained, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.

“Oh, honey,” Lydia patted him on the shoulder, “He already thought that.”

Just then, his dad’s patrol car pulled into the driveway and the Sheriff and Parrish climbed out. His dad ran a worried hand over Stiles’s head as a way of greeting. “Sure you didn’t get hit in the head, kiddo?” he asked, only half joking.

Stiles swatted his dad’s hand away. “Quit! I’m fine! It wasn’t even my stupid idea!”

===

When Chris and Peter showed up, the Sheriff instructed the pack on how to set up a search pattern. Stiles remembered at the last minute to warn everyone to watch out for freaking wood nymphs. His dad gave him a stern look that suggested they would be having words later about Stiles not telling him about the bite on his leg sooner. Lydia just smacked Stiles on the back of the head.

The sun had just set, so they were searching in the dark. Flashlights in hand, they all spread out and combed the woods, yelling Derek’s name.

“There’s not enough of us,” Stiles complained. They’d been searching for hours. The rest of the pack had stopped to take a break, but Stiles and Scott had decided to do another sweep of a particularly thorny thicket that Stiles was convinced they hadn’t searched thoroughly enough the first three times. “Search parties are usually _ dozens _ of people.”

“Stiles,” Scott reminded him. “We can’t _ get _ a normal search party to find a lost _ werewolf _.”

Stiles rubbed at his face in exhaustion. “I know, I know, I just—” he stopped dead.

“Scott...is that…” he pointed at a clearing that was barely visible through the trees. “Is that the _ Nemeton?” _

Scott’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. How did we find the freaking Nemeton?”

“He smells like you, but you don’t smell like him.” A voice from _ right behind them _ made them both jump. Scott’s eyes flashed red and his claws popped out. They both whirled around to the figure behind them. How the hell had someone snuck up on them in woods this dense? How had someone snuck up on Scott _ at all? _

The voice was high, raspy. Like it was being scraped from the speaker’s dry throat.

“You’re his _ pack _.” A woman stood before them. She was naked, her bronze skin patchy with dirt, long dark hair matted with tangles, leaves and twigs sticking out of it.

Her eyes were gaping, bloody holes in her head. Her face was marred with deep, long, scratch marks.

Stiles took one look at her and opened his mouth to yell for the rest of the pack. Before he could get a sound out, the woman’s hand shot forward and she _ grabbed his tongue. _ Her other hand was on Scott’s throat, choking the breath out of him. She was _ fast. _

Scott raked at her arm with his claws. He opened up wound after bloody wound on her arm. She didn’t seem to notice. She tossed him aside like he weighed nothing. He careened into a tree and crumpled to the ground. He didn’t get back up.

The woman yanked on Stiles’s tongue and he stumbled forward. He reached both of his hands up to grab her arm, but he knew without trying that she was too strong for him to fight.

She put her nose to his neck and took a deep breath in through her nose.

“You smell like him more than the other wolf,” she rasped. “Why do you smell like my tree? You _ all _ smell like my tree. _ Why do you smell like my tree?” _

“M mm’m mmmm mmf mmff ooo mmf mm mmmm,” Stiles said in answer.

The woman screeched in anger. Her breath smelled like rotting plants and blood.

“If I let you speak, will you tell me why you let my tree die?”

Stiles had no idea what this crazy lady was talking about but he nodded as much as he could with his freaking tongue held in a vice.

She let go of his tongue and wrapped her hand around his throat. Her grip was firm, but not tight. She dug tips of pointed fingers into his neck. He felt pricks of warm wet blood.

He spat the taste of dirt out of his mouth. “I want to help you,” he gasped. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me what tree you’re talking about and I’ll help you.”

She screeched again and tightened her grip on his throat. “My tree! _ My tree my tree my tree! He let it die! _ The wolf! He let my tree die. They _ cut it! _ And he smells like you and you smell like my tree! Who cut my tree?”

“Your...your tree?” Stiles stuttered. “Is...is your tree the Nemeton?”

Another screech. “Don’t try to put names to things more ancient than you can ever know, _ boy _ . It’s not yours to name. He was supposed to _ protect it,” _ she raged. “Now it’s a _ stump. _ It’s _ bleeding! _” Her grip got even tighter.

“_ Who _was supposed to protect it?” He could barely get the words out.

“The wolf! The black wolf! His family. It was their job. They let someone cut my tree!”

_ “Derek?” _ His vision was getting spotty. He could barely get enough breath to speak. “It’s not Derek’s fault someone cut the Nemeton down! He wasn’t even born yet!”

She screamed in rage. Her grip tightened, completely cutting off his airflow. Her voice ripped from her throat and her hot fetid breath washed over Stiles. “I don’t care! Someone has to make my tree better! _ I don’t know what to do! _ You you you smell like my tree. No. No no no, my tree smells like _ you _. Did you wake my tree up? When it was dead? Did you help it? Can you do it again? Can you bring it back?”

Stiles’s vision was tunneling. He was going to die. This crazy hippy was going to choke the life out of him.

Everything went black.


	6. London Bridge is Falling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles whump and...who's this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning into a bigger fic than I intended. The chapters are getting longer, though, finally.

Stiles came back to himself slowly. The first sensation he could parse was a dull throb behind his eyes, beating with his pulse. The second was his dry, aching throat. He instinctively tried to swallow to ease the pain, but it felt like trying to swallow around a golf ball lodged in his esophagus. Other sensations began bleeding into his awareness. A sharp pain in his ankle; claws, gripping his leg, digging into the healing bite above his sneaker. He was on his back. Moving. He was being dragged across damp ground, sticks and rocks thumping underneath him, scraping and scratching at his back where his shirt had ridden up. The scuffing sound of another body being dragged along next to him.

He cracked his eyes open. It was dark, almost too dark to see, but dim moonlight was filtering in from somewhere above. The trees. They were still in the woods. He could barely make out the form being dragged along next to him. Scott. Unconscious still. Stiles’s fuzzy thoughts came together enough for a pit of worry to start forming in his stomach. The crazy hippy lady—the _ nymph, _ Stiles recognized, dimly—must have thrown Scott _ hard _ to knock his werewolf brains around enough to keep him out for more than a few seconds.

Almost as if responding to that thought, Scott stirred. He twisted a bit in the nymph’s grip and moaned quietly. Stiles tried to shush him, but his voice wasn’t working right. All that came out was a dry rasp. Tree lady had really done a number on his throat.

Scott opened his eyes in a squint. His glassy gaze tried to focus in Stiles’s direction. “Stiles?” he moaned. “Wha…”

“Be quiet, dog,” the nymph croaked. She didn’t turn back to look at them, just kept trudging along, dragging Stiles and Scott to God knows where.

“What’s going on? Where...Stiles what’s…”

The nymph growled in warning, a shrill snarl.

Stiles cleared his throat and tried to make his voice work properly. It came out a pained rasp. “Pro’ly should do what she says, Scotty.” He coughed with the effort. “Crazy strong. Crazy crazy.” He giggled. And _ wow _ giggling did not feel good. He was maybe getting a little hysterical. “Cray cray.”

It was a testament to how bad Scott felt that he didn’t even roll his eyes at Stiles. He just closed them again and moaned.

“Hey,” Stiles croaked, sparing a cautious glance at the nymph. She hadn’t told _ him _ to be quiet yet. “Scott. Don’t fall back asleep, man. You have a concussion.”

Scott didn’t open his eyes, but he scrunched his eyebrows together. “C’n I _ get _ a c’ussion?” he slurred.

“Can if you get hit _ that _ hard. Open your eyes,” Stiles hissed. He coughed again and tried to swallow through the pain in his throat.

Scott opened his eyes with a groan of protest.

The nymph let out another growl. Louder, this time. Stiles took that as his cue to shut up.

Subjectively, it felt like they had been dragged along for miles, but Stiles didn’t think it could have actually been more than a few hundred yards since the time he’d woken up. If he twisted his head around (wincing in pain at the way that made the puncture wounds on his neck sting) he could still see the Nemeton in the distance through the trees.

Why was she taking them _ away _ from the Nemeton?

It wasn’t long before he had his answer. Without warning, the nymph came to a stop and unceremoniously flung Stiles forward by his leg. Something in his leg wrenched and popped as she swung him, and he cried out in pain. He went soaring through the air and then his stomach lurched and panic seized him when the ground beneath him disappeared, falling away to reveal a dark pit in the earth.

He tumbled down.

===

He didn’t lose consciousness this time, not completely.

He really, really wished he had.

He didn’t remember hitting the bottom of the pit. The world grayed out and then came back in a rush of _ pain. _ He was on his back, the breath knocked out of him, and he tried to take a breath, tried to gasp, but his chest and stomach muscles seized and locked up. His whole head was bright with agony; where before there had been a dull ache was now a sharp, screaming throb. He wanted to cry out, wanted to moan, to sob—his mouth moved, opening and closing like a fish’s, but it didn’t _ work _ , he couldn’t _ breathe _ . His vision wavered, and he didn’t know if it was from tears or oxygen deprivation, or both, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but air, but _ breathing _ , and then _ finally _ his diaphragm spazzed once more and then _ relaxed _ and sweet, cool air rushed back into his lungs with a rattling heave, bringing in a whole new orchestra of pain in his throat and chest, but he didn’t _ care _ because he could feel the oxygen singing in his blood and the screaming in his head lessening a little.

He had no idea how long he lay there, just gasping and breathing. Hours, decades? But finally he got his breathing under control and his heart rate slowed. His head still screamed, and his whole body ached. His ears were ringing. Had they been doing that this whole time? But he needed to move. He didn’t think he could move. Didn’t want to try. But swimming around in all the agony in his head somewhere was the idea that he _ needed _ to move, to get _ away _ from something.

He tried to roll onto his side, but something stopped him. A pressure on his shoulder. He reached up to bat at whatever was keeping him from moving, and his hand hit something solid and warm. He blinked and tried to focus. A dark figure was leaning over him, holding him down with a gentle pressure. It was too dark to make out the figure’s face. He thought about panicking, but he just didn’t have the energy. He tried to buck against the restraint, but everything just hurt so much and the person was _ strong. _

“Jesus, Stiles, stay still,” the figure said. He could barely hold a coherent thought, but the voice sounded familiar.

Really familiar.

“Derek?” Stiles croaked.

Derek made a huffing sound, and Stiles could have sworn he detected a hint of relief in the sigh, but he blamed that on the concussion. 

“Stiles, what happened?”

Stiles moaned. “Remembering hurts,” he grumbled. “Don’t wanna think.” He let his eyes slip closed.

Derek shook him a little, disturbing all of his aches and pains and jolting him with a renewed clarity.

_ “Stiles,” _ Derek growled. “Wake up. You hit your head, you need to stay talking.”

Stiles didn’t open his eyes, but he let out a pained giggle. The soreness in his throat barely even registered in the background of everything else now. “Irony,” he wheezed.

“Stiles,” Derek shook him again. Son of a bitch that hurt. He needed to stop doing that. “You aren’t making any sense.”

“Scott,” Stiles opened his eyes and tried to turn his head, tried to look around, searching frantically in the darkness. “He was with me,” he croaked. “Where’d he go? Hit his head bad. Needs help.”

“He didn’t come down with you. Don’t worry about him, he’ll heal. Worry about yourself. Stop moving your head, you might have a neck injury.” Derek groaned in frustration. “I don’t know how to help you, humans don’t _ heal. _”

Stiles moved his head around again, because Derek wasn’t the boss of him, and because, surprisingly, his neck didn’t hurt. Much. “I don’t think so.” His thoughts were starting to come a little clearer now. Talking helped keep him grounded. “Mostly my head. Back. Leg. Throat. Bitch choked me. Not in the fun way.”

“The dryad?” Derek asked.

Stiles frowned. “Nymph,” he corrected.

“What the hell is the difference?”

“Dunno. Greenberg’s usually the Dungeon Master. Have to ask him about stats later.”

Derek sighed. “How am I supposed to tell if you’re slipping into a concussed delusion or just being Stiles?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know Dungeons and Dragons, Derek Hale. I had you pegged as a closet nerd from day one, you’re not fooling anyone.”

He actually got a laugh for that one. “Feeling better?” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles frowned again. “Yeah, actually, what…” The pain had faded to the background a bit, a pleasant numbness he had barely noticed spreading through his body.

Realization hit him. “Derek, stop that. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” He swatted at Derek’s arm again. The arm attached to the hand that Derek had surreptitiously moved from Stiles’s shoulder to the bare skin of his collarbone. Stiles didn’t need to be able to see in the darkness to know that black veins were creeping up Derek’s arm from where he was drawing away Stiles’s pain.

“Wait,” wow, he really hadn’t been thinking straight before. _ “Derek. _ You’re _ here. _ I _ found _ you! Have you been down here the whole time? Are you hurt? What the _ fuck _ is going on?”

Derek huffed another laugh, then sighed. “The dryad, nymph, whatever,” he explained. “I was in the woods, a few days ago, when I was supposed to meet you. I got there early to go for a run. She grabbed me. Tossed me in here. There’s a ring of mountain ash up there, around the edge of the pit; I can’t climb out on my own.” A frustrated growl rumbled in his chest. “She’s insane. Have you seen her face? Her eyes? She did that to herself. She’s latched onto the Nemeton.” Derek’s tone went bitter. “I’ve had time to think about it. I don’t know if she was drawn to the Nemeton because she was already insane and _ stupid _ enough to tie herself to it, or she went insane because it corrupted her.” Stiles could see Derek’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Result’s the same, either way, I guess. She’s crazy and she blames me for letting the Nemeton get cut down. Blames my family.”

“Her screechy rambling makes a lot more sense now,’ Stiles muttered. “What does she want from you? Why keep you here, why not just kill you? Don’t nymphs just feed people to their trees? That’s what Deaton said.” God, it had only been a few days, but it felt like that conversation had been weeks ago.

Derek snorted tiredly. “I’m pretty sure that’s a myth. I don’t think they all do that. The crazy ones, maybe. Maybe that’s what...she wants to do to me, I don’t know. She’s not very...lucid.”

Derek’s voice was getting softer, his words a little more drawn out. Stiles brought a hand up and wrapped his fingers around Derek’s wrist. “Derek, seriously. I’ll be okay. Don’t wear yourself out. Ease up.”

Derek gave in and let Stiles push his hand away. The second they lost physical contact, the pain came back sharply. Stiles swallowed a gasp, a whimper escaping his ruined throat. He breathed through the pain for a few seconds. It was still bad, but he thought it was a little better than it had been. A little residual numbness remained, his limbs still felt a bit loose and distant. He really hoped that was from the pain drain and not shock. His head started to cloud back up again, thoughts taking a little too long to come together.

He groaned and blinked up at Derek. “See. Totally fine.”

“We have to figure out a way to get you out of here, Stiles. Think you can move?”

“Fuck,” Stiles’s eyes watered. He swallowed. “This is gonna suck. Give me a few more minutes before I try.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes while Stiles tried to mentally prepare himself to move.

“You never answered my question,” he stalled. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you? I can’t really see you very well.”

“Not too bad,” Derek answered. “Tired. Hungry. Thirsty. She...cut me.” Stiles could hear the reluctance in Derek’s voice. Reluctance to admit weakness. Derek always had trouble talking about himself like this. “The first night. Drained a bunch of my blood. She was rambling about an offering to the Nemeton. She took a _ lot _ of blood. I haven’t had any food, and barely any water, so I haven’t really...recovered from it completely. Still kind of woozy. Don’t know how good I’ll be in a fight.”

“And you were pain draining me,” Stiles scoffed. “Idiot. No more of that.”

He heard the raised eyebrows in Derek’s voice. “You’re welcome.”

“So, uh...what’s the plan?” No one ever said stalling couldn’t be productive.

“Do you have your phone?” Derek asked. “She took mine.”

_ Duh, _why hadn’t Stiles thought of that already? Concussions sucked. He rooted around in his pockets gingerly until he came out with his phone. He thumbed the screen on and hissed at the bright light. He squeezed his eyes shut and blindly held the phone out to Derek. “Ow. You do it.”

Derek took the phone. “Barely any signal. Want me to call your dad?”

“Yeah. Put him on speaker.”

His dad answered on the first ring. _ “Stiles? I was just about to call you. You and Scott shouldn’t have been gone so long without checking in. Where are you?” _

“Dad…” Stiles tried to keep himself composed, but his voice cracked. “We found Derek. We’re trapped in a pit. At the Nemeton.” He took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know where Scott is, she took him.”

_ “Who took Scott? Stiles, are you okay? Are you hurt?” _

“I’m f—”

“He took a pretty big fall, Sheriff,” Derek interrupted. “Hit his head pretty hard. I don’t think anything is broken, but he’s in a lot of pain. We need to get him out of here, before the nymph comes back.”

“Nymph? _ Like that little gnome thing that bit Stiles?” _

“The other kind,” Stiles said. “Naked lady. This one’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, dad. Dad...she hurt Scott and she took him. I don’t know where they are. You need to call Deaton, he’ll know what to do.”

_ “Okay. Okay, son. I’ll call Deaton. Save your phone battery, okay? We’re coming to get you. Derek? Are you there?” _

“Yes, sir.”

_ “Derek, I want you to call Melissa. Walk her through Stiles’s injuries and make sure he’s okay, got it?” _

“Yes, sir.”

_ “What about you? Are you okay?” _

“I’ll be fine, sir.”

_ “You’ll _ be _ fine, or you _ are _ fine?” _

“I’ll be fine once we’re out of here,” he admitted. “I’m not seriously injured. I’m mobile. I can fight if I have to.”

_ “Okay, son. I’m glad we found you. You take care of my kid, got it?” _

“Yes, sir.”

_ “Stiles? I love you.” _

Stiles swallowed. It took him a second to get the words out. “Love you too, dad. Be careful.”

They ended the call.

“Okay,” Derek said. “We’ll call Melissa and then get you moving around, okay?”

“Unless Melissa tells you to have mercy on me and let me take a nap,” Stiles mused.

“Yeah, not gonna happen,” Derek deadpanned.

Before Stiles could come up with a retort, above them, something screeched.


	7. Ashes, Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's POV in the pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV! I hadn't planned this, but it's a nice break from writing Stiles.  
Also, don't worry, I'd have marked this with a major character death tag if I needed one.

When Derek had first been thrown into the pit, he’d spent hours trying to claw his way up out of it. Literally.

He’d figured out pretty quickly that whatever creature he was dealing with was probably some kind of nature spirit. He didn’t really know much—or anything— about nature spirits, but this woman was crazy strong and seemed to be able to control trees (or the vines and roots in the Preserve had suddenly gained a mind of their own and decided to twist and writhe around him all of their own volition, it honestly wouldn’t be a surprise at this point), so nature spirit was the assumption he went with. The naked thing was a dead giveaway, too. Nature spirits always seemed to have an aversion to clothing in the legends he’d heard as a kid. (Not that he had any room to judge, being as he had been in full shift when he’d been stupid enough to let himself get caught and was now naked at the bottom of a hole in the woods.)

The only type of tree spirit he’d been able to remember anything about had been dryads, and he knew basically nothing about them other than their name. And that  _ was _ just from D&D (Stiles was right about that, though Derek would rather chew off his left arm than ever admit that to  _ Stiles _ of all people), so any information he may have managed to hold onto about them probably wouldn’t have been accurate, anyway. He had no idea how to fight this thing. Didn’t know any of its weaknesses.

But he did know one thing.

Mountain ash came from mountain-ash  _ trees _ —rowans—and she could do whatever she wanted with it.

There was a ring of it around the top of the pit—he’d figured that out when he rammed his head into the invisible barrier when he’d reached the top the first time, so climbing out wasn’t an option. He’d raked and clawed at the edges of the pit in desperation but it turned out the walls were bursting with rowan, as well. He could see the roots of it peeking out of the earthen walls all around him. He couldn’t dig his way out. 

He was hopelessly trapped.

And then Stiles (of  _ course _ it had been freaking  _ Stiles,  _ it was  _ always  _ freaking Stiles) had gotten himself thrown in here with Derek. So now the only person probably capable of figuring out how to kill this thing (another thing he would never let Stiles hear him admit) was stuck in here with him.

And he had gotten himself hurt. Which pissed Derek off. He was pissed off that Stiles was hurt. And he wasn’t sure if he was more pissed off at the...Stiles had called her a nymph...at the  _ nymph _ or at Stiles.

But he  _ couldn’t  _ be pissed off at Stiles while he was laying here at the bottom of a deep dark hole, gasping and bleeding and looking so...helpless. Defenseless.

He wanted to growl. To howl and snarl and claw at the nymph for doing this to Stiles. To innocent, reckless Stiles who was only out here because he was looking for Derek in the first place.

_ Derek. You’re here. I found you! _

He’d been trying to sleep when the nymph dropped Stiles in with him. He hadn’t been able to get much of it in the three days he’d been down here. Or...he’d  _ thought _ it had been three days. He’d kept track of the days by what little pieces he could see of the sky above. Time had been spotty there, for a while, though. After she’d cut and bled him. He’d thought that was it. That he was going to die down here in this hole, bleeding into the dirt. She’d taken so much. Held him down with too-strong arms and cut him with the flick of a whip-sharp rowan root. Drained him into a deep wooden bowl.

She’d just tossed him aside, after. The wound wasn’t healing. The bleeding refusing to slow. He’d drifted off, not expecting to wake up.

But he had. Eventually the wound had closed itself. He wasn’t sure how long he was out. But he didn’t think he’d missed that much time. By the time Stiles came to him, he’d counted three moonrises.

When he had finally been strong enough to sit up, he’d scrambled around until he’d finally unearthed a root that wasn’t rowan—one that he could bite into and suck the moisture out of. But it hadn’t been much. He was so  _ thirsty, _ it consumed his every thought, making way at times only for the deep, aching hunger that gnawed at him. Three days without food wouldn’t have normally been such torture, but his body was trying to replenish massive blood loss and he felt like he was shriveling up from it.

He’d laid there in the dark. Too tired to move, but too scared to sleep. He’d dozed on and off only to jolt awake at the various sounds of the woods above. Too on edge. Waiting for her to come back.

And she had. He’d been trying to sleep again when he heard the sound of footsteps. Of something being dragged. And then he’d heard a cry and his stomach had dropped. A familiar voice.

And then Stiles had come tumbling down. He landed hard, it was a long fall. Landed flat on his back, thankfully, and not at an angle. But Derek had heard the dull  _ thud _ of Stiles’s head bouncing off of the ground and the whoosh of air leaving his lungs.

And he’d crawled over to Stiles and just held him down to keep him from hurting himself while he struggled to get a breath in.

And then Stiles had shaken himself out of his concussion-fog as much as he could and they’d started the beginnings of a plan. The first bit of hope Derek had had in  _ days, _ and then...and then she’d taken Stiles away.

Derek had just hung up with Sheriff Stilinski and was about to call Melissa to get her help making sure Stiles was okay to move around, they’d both looked up at the sudden sound of screeching, and then the rowan roots burst from the ground and snaked around Stiles. He’d screamed through his teeth at the pain of being moved so abruptly. Called out for Derek. But there was nothing Derek could  _ do _ . He was  _ useless _ against this creature, against her colossal strength and her mountain ash. He hadn’t been able to do anything but call after Stiles.

“Stiles! Stiles you have to figure out a way to fight her! You’re smart, Stiles, you can do it! Fight her!”

Then Stiles was out of the pit, disappearing from view. Derek could hear him yelling as she dragged him away.

And Derek was alone again.


	8. Ferengi in the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott reunite.  
Battle ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter!
> 
> This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Hope it's just as fun to read!
> 
> I like the idea of a villain only the humans are really capable of fighting.
> 
> Edit: Edited the chapter to add a line because I MAY have forgotten about Parrish. He's...uh...off on some important business. Oops!

The pain was bad, but once Stiles actually got to moving around, it was manageable. The method by which he learned this—being yanked out of the pit by the weird sentient roots the nymph seemed to control—wasn’t exactly ideal, but now he knew for sure at least that nothing was broken. He figured he’d be in a lot more pain if that were the case. His head and leg were the worst of it. His leg didn’t feel broken, but something definitely wasn’t right with it. Something had to have torn when she had used it to fling him into the pit. His throat still hurt, and his voice was still scratchy, but it was nothing in comparison to everything else. The puncture wounds on his neck were minor. His back and ass were pretty bad. He felt like one big bruise.

But he had worse things to worry about than a little pain. Like being ritually sacrificed.

Again.

Because that’s what she was doing. Why she’d captured Derek. Why she seemed so fixated on Scott and Stiles.

“You smell like my tree, and my tree smells like you,” she kept saying. “You can bring it back. I thought it would like the black wolf. The one that let it die. But it wants you. It wants the doggy and the boy. That has to be it. It smells like you and you smell like it. You can fix it. You can you can.”

Scott and Stiles (and Allison) had already been a sacrifice to the Nemeton once. The nymph wanted to do it again.

And that was why Scott and Stiles were currently strapped to the Nemeton, spread out on the stump like offerings, strapped down by roots. Rowan roots, if Stiles had to guess, since Scott hadn’t just broken out of them like he would any other type of wood.

Scott was still, his eyes closed, when she’d dragged Stiles to the stump. He was bleeding sluggishly from long cuts on the insides of both of his forearms, his blood pooling and running into the cracks in the wood. But he’d woken when the nymph tossed Stiles down next to him and the roots had grown up to tie Stiles down. The nymph had gone on her little rant about their and the Nemeton’s smells then, before wandering off to do whatever crazy nymphs did to get ready for a ritual sacrifice of college students.

“Stiles! Thank god, I was so worried. Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” His eyes scanned Stiles’s body, searching for injuries. “I can smell your blood,” he said, his brows scrunching together in worry.

“How can you smell _ my _ blood over all of yours? God, Scott, are _ you _ okay? How long have you been bleeding?”

“Not long,” Scott said, still looking Stiles over. Scott’s eyes were clear now, any sign of his now healed head injury long gone. “I’m okay for now, just tired. What happened to you? I don’t remember much.”

“Got thrown into a hole,” Stiles said, laying his aching head back on the stump gingerly and closing his eyes. “Long fall. Didn’t feel great. Derek’s down there, though.” Speaking of tired, Scott wasn’t the only one. It was getting hard to focus, he was so exhausted. He just wanted to sleep off the pounding in his head. “We gotta figure out a way to kill this thing and get him out.” After he took a nap.

“Stiles,” Scott said, his voice turning more worried. “Stiles!”

Stiles cracked an eye open reluctantly and pointed it at Scott. “Hm?”

“Did you hit your head? Is that where the blood is coming from?”

“Mm. Yup.”

“Stiles, weren’t you _ just _ telling me not to fall asleep with a head injury?”

Ugh. Leave it to Scott to use his own words against him. “That was Past Stiles, he was an idiot. Present Stiles is much smarter and he says it’s fine.” He closed his eyes again. Everything had started spinning and it was much more unpleasant with his eyes open.

“_ Sti—” _ before Scott could finish the reprimand Stiles’s body betrayed him. Without warning, his eyes shot open and he twisted to the side away from Scott and heaved, vomit spraying out over the stump beneath them.

“You were saying what now, Present Stiles?” Scott deadpanned.

“Oh god,” Stiles sputtered, trying to spit vomit chunks off of his tongue. “Maybe Past Stiles was right. Fuck.”

“You’ll be okay, buddy,” Scott soothed. He stretched his hand over as far as the restraints would let him. It was barely enough to lay the tips of his fingers on Stiles’s wrist. Black veins starting creeping up his arm. The instant relief it gave Stiles made him groan. His eyes fluttered shut and he lay back again. “Not helping me not sleep, Scotty,” he mumbled. “Also not good for you. Bleeding out into a magic tree.”

“You’re right, you gotta stay awake. Sorry.” He pulled his fingers back and the throbbing returned. All Stiles wanted was a nap and some fucking Advil. Or for the nymph to come back and finish the damn job already.

What he got instead was even better. Scott lifted his head, suddenly alert. “Someone’s coming.”

“Scott! Stiles!”

His dad’s voice. Thank fuck.

Stiles craned his head. He could see their flashlights in the distance. “Dad! Over here!” It didn’t come out very loud with his fucked up throat, but it got the job done.

The flashlight beams all swiveled to shine in their direction and the sound of a group of people crashing through the woods came close enough that even Stiles’s weak (still ringing, by the way) human ears could pick it up.

“How’d they find us?” Scott asked.

“I called them. Liam must have used his Nemeton-vision to find us. I was kinda worried that might not work, still. They got here quicker than I thought they would.”

They weren’t the only ones to hear the pack’s approach. From somewhere nearby, the nymph screeched.

By some stroke of luck, the pack arrived in the clearing a few seconds before the nymph, putting them between her and the Nemeton.

Liam was in the lead, his eyes glowing golden. The rest of the pack filed in behind him, most notably Stiles’s dad carrying a large axe, Corey holding a sharp pointed shovel, Mason holding a small chainsaw, and Lydia carrying…

“Is that a _ flamethrower?” _ Stiles croaked.

Lydia grinned at him, hefted the flamethrower, and shrugged. “I bought it a couple years ago,” she bragged. “Thought it might come in handy sometime.”

“That’s...wait, you’ve had that all this time, and you’re just _ now _ bringing it out?” Stiles asked, his tone offended. “I can think of at least a dozen times that would have been useful.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you about it, Stilinski. You’d use it on _ everything.” _

Stiles didn’t respond. She wasn’t wrong.

The nymph screeched again and threw herself at them. 

Lydia pulled the trigger. Flames leapt at the nymph, and she staggered back out of their reach with a growl. She screamed and roots shot up out of the ground, reaching for Lydia.

Lydia stood her ground and Stiles’s dad swung the axe. With a satisfying _ thunk, _ he chopped at the nearest root. It fell to the ground, writhing like a headless snake. He chopped again and again, the roots coming faster and faster. Corey weighed in with his shovel, and Mason fired up his chainsaw. Together they hacked, slashed, and sawed at the roots, keeping them away from Lydia. The nymph screeched in frustration as the roots fell away. 

Lydia lunged forward, bringing the fire closer to the nymph, but the nymph danced away, keeping just out of reach, screaming in anger, searching with the gaping holes where her eyes should be, as though she were looking for a way around the flames.

“Go!” Lydia cried. “Get the boys! We’ll keep her back!”

Isaac, Kira, and Mason broke off from the group and came running over to Scott and Stiles.

“Scott!” Kira cried. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s not bad, I’ll be okay, just get us out of here.”

Kira nodded and moved out of the way to make room for Mason. “Close your eyes,” he instructed.

His chainsaw made quick work of the roots binding them to the Nemeton. He and Kira helped Scott up. He swayed when his feet were on the ground, and Mason and Kira each took one of his arms around their shoulders.

Isaac helped Stiles up. The world was still spinning, and he leaned on Isaac. He tried to put weight on his injured leg and only just managed not to scream. No way was he gonna be able to walk on it.

“Isaac, help me. We have to get Derek.” Isaac nodded and put Stiles’s arms around his shoulders.

Suddenly, Malia, Kira, and all of the wolves stopped what they were doing to tilt their heads in the same direction. Even the nymph stopped cold. Her gaping eye-holes widening in surprise.

After a few seconds of everyone being eerily still, Stiles could hear what they were listening to. In the dark, passed the reach of their flashlights and the orange glow of the flamethrower, something was making a skittering sound.

A lot of somethings.

The shifters all took defensive stances, circling around to protect their human packmates from whatever was coming toward them. The nymph stayed still, staring off in the woods in horror. She wasn’t fighting them anymore.

Slowly, small pinpricks of light started blinking into sight. All around them. Dozens of little yellow glowing balls.

Like fireflies.

For a second, Stiles’s heart seized. His breath caught.

But they weren’t moving like fireflies, he told himself. He forced himself to take in a breath. Slowly, in, out. They were all moving at the same pace, all level with each other. Not flying, not flitting around.

Not fireflies. Eyes.

The eyes came closer, until they were close enough for Stiles to make out.

Dozens of little creatures crept into view. Small, brown, naked, bald, bipedal. The only thing Stiles’s nerd brain came up with to compare them to was Ferengi. They all looked like miniature, naked Ferengi. From Star Trek. Very helpful, Stiles-brain.

They were all baring their mouthfuls of sharp little teeth. Stiles’s ankle tickled at the memory of those teeth sinking into it.

Nymphs. The little kind. The “toothy” kind, as Deaton had so eloquently put it.

They were so fucked.

Except…

Except the little nymphs didn’t seem to be paying attention to any of the pack.

Their glowing eyes were all focusing on _ the _ nymph. The bigger, crazier one.

And she…

_ Turned and ran. _

Stiles watched, frozen in astonishment as she high-tailed it out of the clearing and all of the little nymphs let up a collective growl and sped off after her, their swarm parting to avoid a pack member here and there, some of them even running through their legs.

They could hear the taller nymph’s screams in the dark. A cacophony of little growls accompanying her cries. There were horrible _ ripping _ sounds...

And then they stopped

And the night was quiet.

“Let’s get the _ fuck _ out of here,” Malia said.

“Derek,” Stiles said, dazedly. “Isaac, take me to Derek.”

===

Stiles broke the mountain ash circle around the mouth of the pit, and they hauled Derek out. Stiles was startled to discover that Derek was naked. And had probably been naked the whole time. He hadn’t even noticed in the dark of the pit. Stiles offered up his flannel (yeah, it was the _ middle of the summer _, but he got cold easily and there was nothing wrong with wearing layers), and Derek wrapped it around his waist. He was still weak from blood loss and Malia and Liam had to hold him up.

Stiles’s dizziness felt like it was getting worse and at one point he had to stop their trek home through the woods to pitch himself onto the ground and vomit again.

Without a word, Isaac just scooped him up into a bridal carry. Stiles felt the pleasant tell-tale numbness of Isaac pain-draining him as they walked. “This is humiliating,” Stiles mumbled sleepily into Isaac’s chest.

Isaac just smirked. “Scott says you’re not supposed to sleep,” he said. “I’ll stop pain draining you if you try to sleep.”

Freaking Scott. Stiles opened his eyes and groaned in annoyance. “I hate you,” he said to no one in particular.

“Hey,” Stiles said, looking around blearily, realizing something. “Where’re Peter and Chris? And wasn't Parrish with us?”

“Parrish was on call and he got called away. He wanted to stay, but your dad told him to go in case it was something supernatural. Peter and Chris stayed behind,” Isaac answered. “Melissa’s coming to meet us, so they stayed back to wait for her.”

“You left _ Chris and Peter alone _ together?”

Isaac winced. “I know. But Chris wanted to wait for Melissa, and Lydia with a flamethrower…” He shrugged.

It was Stiles’s turn to wince. Peter and fire really didn’t mix. Peter, _ Lydia, _ and fire _ really _ didn’t mix. “That’s fair.”

The rest of the walk back to their cars was uneventful. No more nymphs came scurrying through the darkness after them.

When they got to the cars, Peter, Chris, and Melissa were waiting for them. Melissa stood there, in what were clearly her pajamas, wringing her hands. When she saw them approach, she came running up and threw her arms around Scott, rambling admonishments at him.

After many apologies and assurances that he was fine (the cuts on his arms had finally stopped bleeding and were starting to heal, and he was even walking on his own at that point, albeit slowly), Scott shooed her over to Stiles.

They got Stiles sitting on the tailgate of Liam’s pickup and Melissa fussed over him, checking his pupils and reflexes, making him spell words and recite dates.

While he was being poked and prodded and trying to remember the year the United States was founded, Stiles could hear Malia, Lydia, and surprisingly _ Peter _ somewhere fussing over Derek. That made him smile.

Melissa killed that smile pretty quickly. “You need a hospital, Stiles. You have a concussion and we need to make sure you don’t have a brain bleed. And we need to get that leg looked at, you could have a torn muscle.”

“No,” Stiles rasped. “No hospitals.” His breathing immediately kicked up and his heart rate started to increase.

After his mom died, Stiles had never really had a good relationship with hospitals (who did, really?), but that discomfort had turned into a full-on phobia after the Nogitsune.

Just the idea of going to the hospital was enough to send Stiles into a panic.

He and Scott had gone to visit Melissa at work a few months after the Nogitsune. Stiles had been nervous just walking up to the front doors, but once he stepped through them and the smell of antiseptic and the light from a flickering fluorescent light had hit him, he’d had to run back out. Memories bombarded him. Of people running, screaming. Blood spraying up from two swinging katanas. People running from _ him _. He’d had a panic attack and very nearly avoided Scott’s shoes when he vomited.

“Please?” he heard himself beg. Everything felt distant, like he was separated from his body. “I don’t...can I just go home? I just need to sleep, I don’t wanna…”

“Shh.” Someone was hugging him, whispering soothing words into his ear. His dad, he recognized, distantly. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re okay.”

“Deaton’s clinic,” Scott’s voice from somewhere over Melissa’s shoulder. “We have a CT scanner there. It’s small, it’s made for dogs, but if it’s just for his head it should work? And an x-ray machine. I know how to use them. Mom? Can we take him there?”

Melissa sighed. “Honey, he really needs…” She trailed off, looking at Stiles, her expression sympathetic. “Okay,” she breathed. “Yeah, alright. It’ll have to work.”

Stiles couldn’t hold in a relieved sob. “Thank you.”


	9. Holding Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-battle cleanup and a little <s>hurt/</s>comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally nearing the end here, friends. Probably just one more chapter to go after this.

Deaton wasn’t at the clinic, but Scott had a key; he was still working for Deaton every summer. He unlocked the door and ushered them all in.

Stiles had tried to save some of his self-respect by refusing to let Isaac bridal-carry him anymore, so he limped along strung between Isaac and Mason.

Derek leaned heavily on Liam as they walked from their cars to the clinic.

Once they were all inside, Isaac and Mason steered Stiles off to some room Derek had never been in before. Presumably the room where they kept the CT scanner or the x-ray machine. Scott, Melissa, and the Sheriff filed in after them.

There was a row of chairs in the corner and Liam helped Derek sit down while he went to scrounge up whatever food he could find. Lydia brought him some scrub pants she’d found from somewhere and he managed to get them on by himself. He put the flannel on his actual torso where it was supposed to go. Stiles had really filled out these past few years, so the flannel actually fit Derek well.

Isaac brought Derek a bottle of water and Derek barely retained his dignity while guzzling it down. Afterwards, Isaac said his goodbyes (and after some hesitation  _ gave Derek a hug, _ which was surprising and awkward, but nice. Derek hugged him back.) and he and Chris left together, Chris parting after giving Derek a hard pat on the shoulder. Peter hadn’t come to the clinic with them at all, disappearing as soon as he’d found out Derek was in one piece and hovered over him uncomfortably for a few minutes before telling him to call if he needed anything.

Kira and Malia left together, each giving him a hug and telling him they were glad he was okay. Malia, a mischievous glint in her eye, muttered something about him owing her for something, which was kind of terrifying, but he was too tired to worry about it too much yet.

Mason and Scott came back after a while, Scott complaining that Melissa had kicked them out once he showed her how to use the machines. Mason and Corey left together.

Lydia kissed him on the cheek, told him that it was time that he started taking better care of himself and that she was going to be supervising his self-care personally, and left. He’d just stared at her departing back, speechless. That was more terrifying than owing Malia  _ anything. _

Liam finally came back with some protein bars he’d dug out of his truck and Derek practically swallowed them whole. Liam left, after. He’d looked like he was about to give Derek a hug, too, but decided against it and gave him an awkward wave instead. Derek was honestly relieved. All of this attention was exhausting.

Scott came over and dropped heavily into the chair next to Derek, finishing up a protein bar of his own and shoving the empty wrapper in his pocket.

“Glad you’re okay, man,” Scott said. “We were all worried about you. Stiles especially.”

“Really?” Derek asked. “Stiles?” He raised his eyebrows.

Scott laughed. “Yeah, man.” He blushed a little, looking down to study his sneakers. “To be honest...Stiles was kind of the only one who noticed you were missing. He’s the reason we were even looking for you in the first place.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Even when we figured out you were gone, we kind of just all thought...I mean, you’ve left before, and…” He shook his head. “But not Stiles. He knew something was wrong.” Scott ran a hand over his eyes and took a breath. He looked up from his shoes and turned to Derek. “I…I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible alpha.  _ I _ should have been the one to notice you were in trouble. I should have sensed something was wrong, but I didn’t.” He looked at Derek, his eyes dark and wide. “If it weren’t for Stiles…” He didn’t finish the thought.

Derek looked away. “Oh.”

“Derek, you...you know we all care about you, right? You’re pack. We all sort of realized that we’re really terrible at showing it, but we  _ like _ you, okay? We’re friends. All of us. Right?”

Derek couldn’t look Scott in the face. His eyes felt hot. He was too tired for this. For all of this. Right now. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Scott. We’re friends.”

Scott let out a breath and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Good, man. That’s...good. We’re gonna be better, okay? To you. All of us.”

Derek nodded, his throat closing.

Scott hugged him then. He didn’t hesitate, it wasn’t awkward, like it had been with Isaac. Scott just wrapped him a bear hug and Derek relaxed into it and hugged him back.

The Sheriff walked in, then, and they broke apart. Scott swiped at his nose, trying to hide a sniffle.

Sheriff Stilinski looked tired. “Boys,” he greeted.

“How’s Stiles?” Derek croaked out, then winced at his wrecked voice, embarrassed.

“Well,” the Sheriff sighed. “His leg isn't broken. Muscle’s probably torn. We talked him into at least going to urgent care tomorrow so he can get a brace. He’s got a concussion, but everything looks okay there, he just needs rest. His back and tailbone are bruised all to hell.” His voice was starting to go watery. “So’s his throat. But he’s okay.” He rubbed at his eyes and leaned back against the exam table. He looked up at Scott. “Scott, your mother let him fall asleep since his brain’s okay. I don’t want to wake him. Do you mind…?” He hooked a thumb back toward the room where Stiles and Melissa were.

Scott jumped up. “Yeah, I’ll go get him.”

“Oh, um…” Derek looked around when he and the Sheriff were alone, suddenly realizing that he had no way to get home. The protein bars he’d scarfed down had made him feel a little better, but he probably could barely even walk on his own right now. He looked at the exam table, resigning himself to the idea of sleeping on the cold metal slab tonight until he was strong enough to get home on his own in the morning. The idea struck him that he could ask one of the others to drop him off at the loft, but they were all clearly exhausted and it was pretty far out of the way.

The Sheriff seemed to understand where Derek’s mind was going. “You’re coming home with us tonight, son. We need to get some food in you.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“I wasn’t asking. Besides, Stiles would be pissed if we let this ‘momming’ opportunity pass.”

Derek scrunched up his eyebrows. “‘Momming’?”

The Sheriff shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Stiles.”

Scott and Melissa came out, then, Scott cradling a sleeping Stiles in his arms. “If he asks later,” Scott whispered loudly, “Stiles walked out of here on his own. He’d never forgive me for this.”

Derek couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him.

===

Stiles woke up panicking. He didn’t know where he was at first, it was dark, and he couldn’t remember how he got there. Didn’t remember falling asleep.

Then someone was there, flipping on the lamp on the night table next to his bed (his bed, he realized, he was in his own bedroom), and sitting next to him, helping him hold up his shaking fingers to count over and over. One, two, three, four, five. Five fingers. He was awake. He was awake in his own bedroom. Awake and himself.

Awake with a shirtless, sleep-ruffled Derek in his bed. Holding his hand.

Stiles jerked his hand away from Derek, his breathing slowing.

“I’m okay,” he said to himself as much as to Derek. “I’m fine. Sorry, you can…” He squinted at Derek, blinking the fuzz of sleep out of his eyes. There were dark circles under Derek’s eyes, his hair was ruffled, he was shirtless, and was wearing a pair of pajama pants that were definitely Stiles’s. “Are those my pants? Were you sleeping? What time is it? You’re at my house?” He realized he was probably being rude, but his mouth tended to get away from him sometimes. All the time.

Derek looked down and plucked at the pants self-consciously. “Yeah, I…” He cleared his throat. “Your dad. Made me come home with you. He...made me sandwiches. And gave me your pants. And made up a bed for me on the couch. He said…” His eyebrows did a thing. “He said something about ‘momming’ me.”

Stiles blinked and then a slow grin spread over his face. Good job, pops. “Good. Someone needs to.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles’s grin faltered and he started to worry that maybe he’d overstepped a bit. Not that he usually cared about that sort of thing too much, that  _ was  _ kind of his schtick, but in this case...Derek’s actual mom had  _ died in a fire, _ so it was maybe too sensitive of a subject to make light of. “Is that...is that okay? You just...We’ve kind of...neglected you. The pack, I mean. We’re supposed to take care of each other.”

Derek blinked a bunch, his face (and eyebrows) filtering through what looked like several indecipherable emotions.

“I...um. Scott said...Scott said that you were the one who realized I was in trouble,” Derek said quietly, looking down at his hands.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Guess that was me. I was...we were...yeah. When you didn’t show up to...I, uh. Raised the alarm, I guess.” Stiles fidgeted with his hands, absently.

“Thank you,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles’s own eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

Thank you. Derek Hale. Said those words. To him. Stiles Stilinski.

Normally he’d...Normally he would tease the hell out of Derek for that. He’d never let him hear the end of it, to be precise. But...looking at Derek sitting there in his pajamas (in  _ Stiles’s _ pajamas, which made his heart do some kind of weird flippy thing that he was so not ready to analyze right now), still looking pale and exhausted and so damn  _ sincere _ …

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said, simply, a small smile forming on his lips.

“You should go back to sleep,” Derek said. “Melissa left some pain pills for you. She said to tell you ‘It’s the good stuff, but you only get two so you better be grateful for what you get and only use them when you really need to.’” Stiles didn’t think Derek even noticed he was doing it, but he kind of waggled one of his eyebrows a little the exact same way Melissa did when she was talking to Stiles like that. It was a spookily accurate impression.

Stiles analyzed his rapidly elevating pain levels, now that he wasn’t in the beginnings of a panic attack or distracted by the shock of Derek Hale thanking him. Yeah, he was definitely going to need one of those pills.

Derek brought him a pill and a glass of water. He took them, swallowed the pill, flipped the light off, and gingerly snuggled back under the covers.

Derek turned to leave. “‘Night, Derek,” Stiles said sleepily.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

===

Derek was still asleep on the couch the next afternoon when Stiles’s dad herded a hobbling, groggy Stiles out the door to take him to urgent care. He didn’t even stir.

He was still asleep when Stiles and his dad came home hours later, Stiles’s leg secured in a walking brace.

He was still asleep that night when Stiles’s dad left for his nightshift.

At some point, Stiles got sick of looking at Derek scrunched up on the small couch and nudged him until he was alert enough for Stiles to lead him by the arm to his bed. He didn’t think Derek even really woke up for it. He shoved him into bed and tucked him under the covers.

Derek slept for 27 hours.

He’d eventually woken up, stumbled to the bathroom, and come into the living room, rubbing at his sleep-heavy eyes looking sheepish. Stiles just smirked at him from his makeshift bed on the couch, told him there were leftovers and some Gatorade for him in the fridge, and ordered him to the shower when he was done.

Fed, showered, dressed in a pair of Stiles’s sweats and a t-shirt, and looking like he felt human (er...werewolf?) again, Derek sat on the edge of the recliner next to the couch, fidgeting awkwardly. “I, uh…The nymph took my phone. Can I borrow yours? I can have Peter come pick me up.”

“Sure.” Stiles tossed him his phone. “You can...I mean, you don’t have to leave. Yet. If you don’t want to. There’s a meeting tonight. Kind of a debrief. If you wanna...stay? Until then.” Smooth, Stilinski.

Derek looked like he actually thought about it for a second. “Thanks, but,” he looked down at himself. “I should probably change into some of my own clothes before then. And...I guess I have to go pick up the Camaro. And get a new phone.” He swallowed. “But I’ll be back tonight. For the meeting. What time?”

“Seven. You should probably call Cora, too. She’s been blowing up everyone’s phones asking for updates.”

“Cora? She knows what happened?”

Stiles nodded. “Isaac got her number from Peter. When we were looking for you. To see if she’d talked to you.” 

Derek groaned. “Crap. Yeah, I’ll call her. Thanks.”

Peter was at the door only a few minutes later. He’d never heard of speed limits, apparently. Stiles made a mental note of that for the next time Peter pissed him off. He could sic one of his dad’s deputies on him.

Derek rose from his uncomfortable perch on the recliner. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Stiles put a couple of fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute. “See ya.”

“Oh hey,” Stiles called out when Derek got to the door. “You still got my phone?”

“Oh, sorry.” Derek walked back over and handed the phone out to Stiles. Their fingers accidentally brushed when Stiles took the phone back, sending a tingle up Stiles’s arm and making his stupid heart do that weird flippy thing again. Derek turned and left.

Fuck.

What the fuck.

Stiles was so screwed.


	10. The Wolf, the Boy, and the Wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion.

Scott came over later that day to keep Stiles company while he was laid up. They played video games and didn’t talk about anything that had happened. They both knew each other well enough to know that they were in agreement that it was best to save any of that for the meeting and then hopefully, after, forget any of it ever happened.

Six o’clock rolled around and Stiles decided he should probably change out of his dirty sweats and clean up the house a little before the meeting. He made Scott clean up the living room while he hobbled into his room to change.

Twenty minutes later, he was still sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his open closet (where all of his clothes had somehow ended up at some point, instead of strewn around his room like they had been all summer. Thanks, dad.)

Scott came in, his face screwed up in concern.

“Uh, you okay dude? Did you forget how pants work or something? Need some help?”

“No, no…” Stiles waved, absently. “Just...trying to decide what to wear.”

“It’s a pack meeting, Stiles, not a coronation.”

Stiles looked pointedly at Scott.

“Dude, Medieval History was somehow my only elective option last semester, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Scott plopped down on the bed next to Stiles and joined him in staring at his closet. “Is it, uh…” Scott cleared his throat, which he only did when he was leading a pack meeting and trying to give off an air of authority, had a cold (which he couldn’t get anymore), or was trying to talk about something that made him uncomfortable. “Is it because Derek’s gonna be there?”

If Stiles had been taking a drink he would have spit. His cheeks and ears burned and he didn’t need to look to know they were suddenly flaming red.

“Wha...what does Derek have to do with anything?” he squeaked, real dignified-like.

Scott didn’t make eye contact. “Lydia said—”

Stiles smacked a hand over his face and groaned loudly.  _ “Of course _ Lydia would figure it out before I even did,” he mumbled into his hand.

Scott thumped him on the back, sympathetically. “That bad?” he asked.

Stiles took his hand from his face and gestured wildly. “When the fuck did this happen, Scott?  _ How _ did this happen? It’s  _ Derek. _ ”

“Yeah, but you and Derek have been talking a lot, right? Texting? And you’ve been through a lot together since you’ve known each other. Especially that incident last summer with the faeries and you two had to—” 

“Scott!” Stiles cried. “We don’t talk about that! We all agreed!”

“Sorry, sorry. I just mean you two have…” he wrinkled his nose. “Chemistry. You said yourself that he’s changed since he came back. He’s...nicer.”

_ “Nicer,”  _ Stiles mocked. “Ugh.”

Scott laughed and clapped him on the back again. Then he stood up, rooted around thoughtfully in Stiles’s closet and pulled out a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans that Stiles didn’t wear too often because they were a little too tight.

“I’m no Lydia,” Scott said, holding the outfit up, “But I think you should go with these.”

===

Derek stood in front of his closet. He’d been there for ten minutes already.

Peter wandered in. He only ever came over when he was bored and looking for trouble. Derek didn’t acknowledge him.

Peter watched him for a while.

“Got a hot date?” He asked, finally.

“What? No. Just a pack meeting.”

“You’re staring at your closet as though your life depends on which Henley you choose.”

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

“Go away.”

Peter sighed. “Don’t be antisocial, nephew.” He tapped his chin contemplatively. “Go with the maroon one. It will bring out your beautiful green eyes.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

Then he picked the maroon one. Not because Peter suggested it. Because he wanted to.

Peter narrowed his eyes while he watched Derek change his shirt.

“You’re being creepy. Go away.”

“This is about the Stilinski boy, isn’t it?”

“What?” Derek sputtered.

Peter smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Then he left.

“What the fuck,” Derek said to his empty loft.

===

The pack was piled into Stiles’s living room. Stiles got to stretch out on the couch all by himself this time since he was still one giant bruise and couldn’t really squish in with everyone like they normally did. Everyone else was splayed out around the room wherever they could manage to get comfortable, but Scott and Derek had taken their usual spots at their respective ends of the coffee table.

Some knot of anxiety that Stiles hadn’t realized he’d still carried unwound a little at the sight of Derek back in his rightful place.

Stiles’s laptop sat open on the coffee table. Deaton looked out at them from the screen.

“My hypothesis,” Deaton was saying, “Is that this nymph was drawn to the Nemeton and it drove her insane. I have no idea why she would want to bind herself to a damaged tree, but in the end that doesn’t really matter. She was obviously trying to find a way to regrow the Nemeton, but she was directionless. She must have assumed that the Nemeton would want vengeance, but Derek’s blood did nothing. When Scott and Stiles stumbled upon her, she could sense that they and the Nemeton were connected. So it seemed obvious to her that their sacrifice would help heal the Nemeton.”

“Yeah, but why did the other nymphs attack her?” Stiles asked.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Stilinski. I regret that I am not very well-versed in nymph lore. I know the forms they take, and I’ve heard that some are often inclined to sacrifice humans to their trees, but aside from that, I don’t really know as much as a druid probably should. I don’t know much about how they work as a community. It could be that the smaller form of the species and the larger form do not get along. It could be that they participate in territory disputes. However...I believe that perhaps what happened in this instance is that the smaller nymphs may have known that the other nymph was sick. I believe they may have killed her because they knew that she was not right and that she had bound herself to a tree that would give her great power. In short...she was a threat, so they destroyed her. Like a rabid dog, as it were.”

He paused, looking contemplative. “Stiles,” he said, “I can’t help but wonder if you were attacked and bitten that first day in an effort to warn you away from the Preserve. To prevent the nymph from capturing and sacrificing you and in turn reviving the Nemeton and gaining its power.” Deaton shrugged. “I suppose we’ll never really know.”

===

After their debrief with Deaton, the pack mulled around a bit longer, talking amongst themselves. Stiles noticed Lydia and Malia making mischievous eyes at each other. Before long, the two were grabbing a confused Corey and dragging him off somewhere.

They came back a few minutes later, Lydia proudly sporting four bottles of champagne, Malia balancing a stack of several boxes of beer on one hand and a couple of large bottles of cheap whiskey grasped in the other, and poor Corey trailing behind, his arms piled high with enough junk food to feed an army.

They shoved Stiles’s laptop to the side and dumped their goods onto the coffee table. A hesitant cheer went up around the room when the others noticed what was happening.

“We’re having a party?” Kira squeaked excitedly.

“We all need to decompress,” Lydia declared.

“Lydia,” Mason said, “This is nice of you, but why so much alcohol? That’s way more than the four people in this room who can get drunk could drink in one night.”

A downright  _ impish _ grin spread over Lydia’s face. She walked over and grabbed her purse from a hook near the door. She reached in and came out with a large vial full of purple liquid.

“Malia and I have been working on something.” She shook the vial in emphasis. “A mild form of wolfsbane that, when mixed with an alcoholic beverage, allows a shifter to feel its effects.” She stuck out her chin proudly. “I developed it myself.”

Malia bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement. “It’s  _ awesome,” _ she reported.

A murmur of excitement went around the room and mild chaos erupted as everyone scurried to start pouring and mixing drinks. Snacks were divvied up. Music started up from somewhere.

Stiles just sat back and enjoyed it. He noticed Derek sitting across the room doing the same, a small smile on his face.

Mason shoved a drink into Stiles’s hand and dropped a Nintendo 64 controller into his lap. Someone had booted up Mario Party.

===

A couple hours later, the party hadn’t exactly died down, but it had leveled out. Everyone was either completely smashed or at least pleasantly drunk. Stiles was no exception. He had migrated to the recliner and was munching on plain tortilla chips, the pleasant buzz running through his body chasing away all of his aches.

He had noticed at some point that Derek and Malia had been huddled in the corner for a while, having what looked to be a semi-serious conversation. Derek, drink in hand (Stiles had been surprised when he saw Derek actually take a drink when offered, and then accept subsequent refills), had a soft expression on his face as they talked, and Stiles wondered if maybe Derek was telling Malia about their family.

Liam stumbled over, interrupting their conversation to drag Malia away to join in the weird were-creature arm-wrestling match that had started up in the kitchen. Malia laughed at something Liam said and turned back with an apology to Derek before letting Liam drag her off. Liam called after Derek to join, but Derek just shook his head and waved them off with a sociable half-smile. When they were gone, Stiles watched him quietly slip out the front door.

Stiles hauled himself out of the recliner and followed after him.

He found Derek sitting on the front lawn, looking up at the night sky.

Stiles stumbled down the porch stairs (and narrowly avoided falling on his ass in the process), and plopped down on the grass next to Derek.

Derek watched Stiles but didn’t say anything.

“You okay?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek’s eyes opened a little in surprise, but he just pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Just wanted some air.”

“Cool. Want me to leave?”

Derek reached over and put a hand on Stiles’s arm. “No. Stay.”

Stiles gulped.

Stiles could tell by the look on Derek’s face that he wanted to say something. Stiles waited.

“You looked for me,” Derek said finally. He was looking away from Stiles.

“Um. Yup. Couldn’t just let you get ritually sacrificed without me.” Stiles shrugged.

“You got hurt. You got hurt helping me.  _ Saving _ me.” He turned to look at Stiles then and Stiles felt his stomach flip.

“Well, yeah, dude, idiot-Stiles getting himself hurt is kind of par-for-the-course around here, don’t sweat it too much.”

“Stiles.” Derek scrunched his eyebrows together. “Shut up.”

Stiles shut up.

“I’m trying to...I’m trying to say... _ thank you.” _

“Oh.” Stiles looked down at his hands, suddenly sheepish. “You don’t have to...you already said that. Before.”

“Not like this.”

And then Derek.

Kissed him.

Stiles froze. It was a quick, closed-mouth kiss and Stiles was too shocked to properly reciprocate. Derek pulled back and looked Stiles in the eyes. Studying him. Waiting for a reaction.

Then Stiles lunged forward drunkenly and kissed Derek back. A full kiss this time. Derek tasted pleasantly like whiskey and mint.

They broke apart, gasping slightly.

“You...you’re drunk,” Stiles stuttered.

Derek smiled. “So are you.”

“We’re drunk. This is...are we doing this?”

“Do you want to do this?”

_ “Hell yes.”  _ Stiles hesitated. “Just...are you gonna...is this just because you’re drunk?”

Derek’s expression saddened. “No, Stiles. I want this. I think I’ve wanted it for a while.”

“Oh.”

Derek waited.

“Can we…” Stiles continued. “Can we maybe...wait? Until we’re not drunk. Just...I want to be sure. That you really want it.”

_ “Stiles,” _ Derek chastised. “I’m not  _ that _ drunk. But we can wait. If you want.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Uh...okay. Really?”

_ “Stiles.” _

Derek grabbed Stiles by the hand and pulled him up off the grass. “Let’s go back to the party. And then tomorrow I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“Ohh, can we get Chinese?”

Derek chuckled. “We can get whatever you want, Stiles.”

Then they walked back inside to re-join their friends, still holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this! Thanks for reading!


End file.
